


Poetry

by Lynn Cheshire (orphan_account)



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: April Showers Challenge, Cousin Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-15
Updated: 2004-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 15:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Lynn%20Cheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poetry on the Brandywine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poetry

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a fluffy plot bunny that latched on to me and wouldn’t leave until I’d given it life. Sappy and poetic with a bit of laughter mixed in.

Merry reveled in the sluggish peace that summer brought to its fullest. He enjoyed it because he really wasn’t expected to _do_ anything when it was so hot. Most of his afternoon’s he spent sitting in his favorite tree on a certain branch that hung out over the Brandywine just low enough so that he could dangle is toes in the cool water; wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a light, loosely buttoned shirt so as to soak in the sun's glorious rays. He often brought along a good, long book to read and enough pipeweed to last him until nightfall. His dearest cousin could never understand his love of afternoon’s spent in quite contemplation. He could often be seen sulking when, after a morning of merriment with his most beloved companion, the older Hobbit would retire to his tree to _read_ of all things. Pippin had tried everything he could think of to persuade Merry to come out and play, but to no avail.

This particular day Merry had retired to his tree and was reading a very good book. One of Frodo’s containing several stories involving Elves and Men, though mostly Elves. He had just gotten to a story about two Elf Lord lovers when he heard a familiar rhythm of foot steps drawing near. He sighed, knowing that it was Pippin come to pester him again, and continued reading. After a few moments the footsteps stopped and Merry assumed that Pippin had given up before even trying this time.

After a moment or two he thought he heard the gentle sound of laughter coming from above and looked up just in time to see a ball of Pippin leap from a high branch and into the river causing a massive wave to come crashing over Merry’s head.

Pippin broke the surface with a great deal of splashing as he spewed water from his mouth like a fountain. He looked over to the branch to find a very wet, very displeased Merry glaring daggers at him. The younger Hobbit giggled happily. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he tried to force his broad grin into a serious look. The result reminded Merry of the look Sam often gave Pippin whenever he knew he’d been into his gardens.

Merry suppressed a laugh that threatened to emerge but instead looked mournfully at the soggy book and his ruined pipe. “Really Pip, of all the places to swim in the Shire did you have to pick here? The water barely touches your shoulders at the deepest point; you have very poor tastes in swimming locations.”

Pippin swam closer to the branch and grinned at his cousin, nodding like the village idiot many people considered him to be. Merry rolled his eyes and searched for something dry that he could use to mop up Frodo’s book, perhaps his handkerchief had survived Pippin’s deluge...

“You really should have stayed with me and the others today. Fatty told me the funniest limerick...I wonder if I can remember it...” Pippin went on as he floated about on his back, his hands tucked behind his head like he would always do when he was thinking. “There once was a Took from Tuckborough...”

Merry gave a sort of strangled cry, “Pippin! If you’re going to go around spouting poetry at least say something more, more...I don’t know but not _that!_ ” Finally finding a dry handkerchief he set about the task of rescuing Frodo’s poor book.

Pippin was quiet for a few moments as he drifted about, wrestling with what poetry he could remember that would be to Merry’s liking. He cared very much for his older cousin. He felt drawn to him in a way he couldn’t quite explain, like a part of him was missing when Merry wasn’t there. Pippin giggled as an idea began to form in his mind, which was never a good thing where the Took was concerned. Finally deciding on just the right verse he swam over to the branch and gazed up at Merry with mockingly serious eyes.

“Dearest Merry,” he began in his best try at a solemn voice. “How do I love you? Let me count the ways. I love you to the top and bottom and in-between of my soul. Reach out when feeling out of sight. For the ends of Begging and ideal Graces. I love you to the level of everyday's...”

“Enough!” Merry moaned, covering his ears. He wore an exasperated look that clearly stated he wanted no more of Pippin’s poetry. “If you’re going to try and woo me with poetry at the very _least_ get the words right!”

Pippin looked genuinely hurt. “I suppose you think you could do better?” He gave Merry a very doubtful look and began to float off again.

Merry studied him for a long moment. Watching how his dear cousin glided through the water almost as effortlessly as a fish. How the sun’s rays played like gentle music through his wet hair, giving it an effect that reminded Merry of liquid gold, just waiting for the smithy’s skilled hand. His lean, tanned body told a tale of summer days spent running through meadows, or swimming for long hours in the Brandywine. Merry loved watching Pippin when he was resting, there was so much energy there, just itching to be spent, he often wondered how the young Hobbit could relax at all.

“You can’t, can you?” Pippin challenged, breaking Merry’s train of thought.

Sighing Merry decided that the poor book was a lost cause and set it aside. He repositioned himself on the branch so that his legs were dangling into the water. “Come here, Pippin,” Merry’s voice carried a serious note that took Pippin a bit by surprise; silently he obeyed and swam over.

Merry took Pippin’s hand gently in his own and stared intently into his friend’s eyes. Pippin’s cheeks took on a pinkish tint at the attention.

Clearing his throat Merry began to speak in a gentle voice. “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” He slipped off the branch and into the water, keeping his eyes fixed on Pippin’s. “I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight for the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.” He took hold of Pippin other hand and held them both in his own. Pippin felt his cheeks grow even hotter at the attention. He wanted to tell Merry to stop, that he had proven his point but at the same time he never wanted Merry to let him go, or stop looking at him like he were the only soul that ever mattered.

Merry continued on. “I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.” Merry drew Pippin closer until there noses with touching. Pippin could feel the gentle touch of Merry’s breath upon his lisps and it made them tremble.

“I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.” Merry finished in a whisper.

“Mer-” Pippin began but Merry placed a silencing finger upon his lips.

“That, my dear cousin, is how to properly woo someone.” Merry said softly as he released his hold on Pippin’s hands and slid his arms loosely around his friend’s waist.

Pippin felt waves of warmth course through his body despite the cool water that surrounded him. He loved the feel of Merry’s arms around him, loved the way one hand was tracing circles in the small of his back. He bit his lip nervously and trembled under Merry’s steadfast gaze. “Merry...” it was less than a whisper, an almost silent plea that slipped out from between his lips and hung in the air between them.

Merry smiled gently and leaned in close to Pippin’s ear. “Do you want me to kiss you, Pippin?” He whispered. Pippin nodded, his entire body trembling now. Merry placed a finger under Pippin’s chin and gently tilted his head up. Then Merry’s soft lips joined with Pippin’s own uncertain ones in the lightest of kisses. Pippin’s head grew dizzy at the contact and he felt as if he’d have fallen over if Merry were not holding onto him. It lasted only a second’s time and Merry pulled back. He studied the younger Hobbit for a moment then brought their lips together again. Pippin moaned softly as lips parted and their tongues began to dance. He trembled and gripped tightly to the front of Merry’s shirt; this time he did fall over, brining Merry down with him.

Merry held Pippin even closer, the kiss going ever deeper despite the water surrounding them. Pippin never wanted it to end, never wanted to leave this watery heaven he and Merry had discovered together. They clung tightly to one another, both afraid to let the other go. Finally the need for air drove them back to the surface, both emerged gasping for breath.

Merry pulled himself back up onto the branch and lay back; drawing Pippin up and into his lap. He began to gentle run his hand along Pippin’s back.

Pippin sighed. “I like your poetry, Merry.” He looked up at him with eyes full of innocence, “Will you tell me that kind of poetry again sometime?”

Merry smiled down at him. “If you’d like.”

“And will you...” Pippin looked down again and began to fiddle nervously with one of the buttons on Merry’s shirt. “Will you kiss me like that again?”

Merry kissed Pippin’s forehead lightly. “Of course.”

Pippin sighed again and rested his head under Merry’s chin.

Merry gazed out across the Brandywine at the setting sun and how its many colored rays played tricks across the river’s surface. They’d have to be heading home soon. The older Hobbit wondered how exactly he’d break the news to Frodo about his waterlogged book. He looked down at Pippin and thought of Frodo and Sam. Perhaps the master of Bag End would understand.

**Author's Note:**

> “How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways” is by Elizabeth Barrett Browning


End file.
